Peril at End House by Agatha Christie Read Free Book Online Page B

remarked.
    ‘A contrast to her friend—eh?’
    Frederica Rice was in white. She danced with a languorous weary grace that was as far removed from Nick’s animation as anything could be.
    ‘She is very beautiful,’ said Poirot suddenly.
    ‘Who? Our Nick?’
    ‘No—the other. Is she evil? Is she good? Is she merely unhappy? One cannot tell. She is a mystery. She is, perhaps, nothing at all. But I tell you, my friend, she is an allumeuse .’
    ‘What do you mean?’ I asked curiously.
    He shook his head, smiling.
    ‘You will feel it sooner or later. Remember my words.’
    Presently to my surprise, he rose. Nick was dancing with George Challenger. Frederica and Lazarus had just stopped and had sat down at their table. Then Lazarus got up and went away. Mrs Rice was alone. Poirot went straight to her table. I followed him.
    His methods were direct and to the point.
    ‘You permit?’ He laid a hand on the back of a chair, then slid into it. ‘I am anxious to have a word with you while your friend is dancing.’
    ‘Yes?’ Her voice sounded cool, uninterested.
    ‘Madame, I do not know whether your friend has told you. If not, I will. Today her life has been attempted.’
    Her great grey eyes widened in horror and surprise. The pupils, dilated black pupils, widened too.
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘Mademoiselle Buckley was shot at in the garden of this hotel.’
    She smiled suddenly—a gentle, pitying, incredulous smile.
    ‘Did Nick tell you so?’
    ‘No, Madame, I happened to see it with my own eyes. Here is the bullet.’
    He held it out to her and she drew back a little.
    ‘But, then—but, then—’
    ‘It is no fantasy of Mademoiselle’s imagination, you understand. I vouch for that. And there is more. Several very curious accidents have happened in the last few days. You will have heard—no, perhaps you will not. You only arrived yesterday, did you not?’
    ‘Yes—yesterday.’
    ‘Before that you were staying with friends, I understand. At Tavistock.’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘I wonder, Madame, what were the names of the friends with whom you were staying.’
    She raised her eyebrows.
    ‘Is there any reason why I should tell you that?’ she asked coldly.
    Poirot was immediately all innocent surprise.
    ‘A thousandpardons, Madame. I was most maladroit . But I myself, having friends at Tavistock, fancied that you might have met them there…Buchanan—that is the name of my friends.’
    Mrs Rice shook her head.
    ‘I don’t remember them. I don’t think I can have met them.’ Her tone now was quite cordial. ‘Don’t let us talk about boring people. Go on about Nick. Who shot at her? Why?’
    ‘I do not know who— as yet , said Poirot. ‘But I shall find out. Oh! yes, I shall find out. I am, you know, adetective. Hercule Poirot is my name.’
    ‘A very famous name.’
    ‘Madame is too kind.’
    She said slowly:
    ‘What do you want me to do?’
    I think she surprised us both there. We had not expected just that.
    ‘I will ask you, Madame, to watch over your friend.’
    ‘I will.’
    ‘That is all.’
    He got up, made a quick bow, and we returned to our own table.
    ‘Poirot,’ I said, ‘aren’t you showing your hand very plainly?’
    ‘ Mon ami , what else can I do? It lacks subtlety, perhaps, but it makes for safety. I can take no chances . At any rate one thing emerges plain to see.’
    ‘What is that?’
    ‘ Mrs Rice was not at Tavistock . Where was she? Ah! but I will find out. Impossible to keep information from Hercule Poirot. See—the handsome Lazarus has returned. She is telling him. He looks over at us. He is clever, that one. Note the shape of his head. Ah! I wish I knew—’
    ‘What?’ I asked, as he came to a stop.
    ‘What I shall know on Monday,’ he returned, ambiguously.
    I looked at him but said nothing. He sighed.
    ‘You have no longer the curiosity, my friend. In the old days—’
    ‘There are some pleasures,’ I said, coldly, ‘that it is good for you to do